A Collection of Hetalia One-Shots
by RomeoBlack123
Summary: Mosh pit of a bunch of one-shots I've written...will probably be updated irregularly. Shots will include reader inserts, non-cannon character pairings, lots and lots of angst (and feels), and trigger warnings for suicide, self harm, murder, etc. for some Shots. I write a lot about Iceland and England, so expect a good amount of them on here. REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Just write a review.
1. Chapter 1-Iceland x Reader -Storage Shed

**Well...I usually don't write in second person, so experiment time. Here goes nothing~**

You decided to go to Iceland's house today. You were bored, there was nothing to do, and he wouldn't mind. You were friends, after all. A lot of your meetings were spontaneous rather than planned, and you enjoyed each other's company. And you definitely had a certain fascination for the Icelandic man, although you would never admit it to anyone. You hadn't seen him in around a week, which was longer than usual.

"Iceland?" you called as you opened the door. It wasn't locked, so he was home. No answer. "Iceland?" you called out again. You walked through the first floor of the house, frowning when you didn't get an answer. He should have heard you…maybe he was in the garage?

You put your shoes back on and walked out the door, making your way up the driveway to the garage. It didn't connect to the house for whatever reason, and you had never been in there. As far as you could tell, it was used as a storage shed…but you couldn't help but be curious when you heard the sound of scraping metal coming from inside. The side door was ajar, and you quietly sneaked over and poked your head around the corner.

This place definitely wasn't just for storage. Round shields adorned one wall, each looking as if it was about a thousand years old. The paint was faded, but you could make out the ancient Viking images and inscriptions on them. An open leather-bound book with yellow pages sat on a desk below them, perhaps just as old as the shields, pages filled with Old Icelandic text. Spears and Axes adorned the wall closest to you, hanging on either side of a tapestry depicting a nighttime landscape scene with the aurora borealis shining in all its glory. The man himself stood facing the wall beside you, sharpening a rather impressive axe, like the one Denmark always carried around. This one was bigger, though; neater, and far more impressive. You looked on as the Icelander finished his work, lifting up the axe with one hand as if it was nothing. You didn't realize he was so strong; you never thought someone as scrawny as him could lift up something so heavy. He put his tool down on the table as he twirled the axe between his hands, soft smile present on his face. He turned away and walked towards the middle of the room, where a large open area had been cleared of boxes and scrap metal. He shifted the weapon to his right hand again as he gave it an experimental swipe upwards, his smile growing slightly. He closed his eyes as he began sparring with the air, executing the maneuvers perfectly, as if he had done them thousands of times before. It was certainly better than Denmark's wild axe-swinging, maybe even better than Norway's swordsmanship (you watched him spar one time). You jumped slightly as the axe made contact with a wooden pole, creating a deep gash in the wood. He drew it out with a quick jerk, finally turning to face you.

"Oh, uh….hi (y/n). " he said, walking over to you, slinging the axe over his shoulder as he did so. "How are you?"

"Fine. But uh…since when can you do that?" you said, gesturing to the axe. "And what is this place? It's definitely not just a storage shed."

"Well…technically, it is a storage shed," he said. "This is where I keep all the stuff I have left over from the Old Days…the Viking Age in particular. This, for example," he said, walking over to the far wall and taking down a red and white shield, "was the first shield I ever used. Here, try it," he said, holding it out to you.

"Uh…ok," you said, almost dropping the shield on the ground as soon as it left his hand. Why was it so heavy? You could barely lift it.

Scratch that, he was still holding onto it.

"Put your arm through the loops, like this," he said, guiding your arm through the metal. "It's a bit uncomfortable at first, but it's better after you get used to it."

He let go for real this time, and you could feel your arm instinctively buckle under the shield's weight. By some miracle, you actually managed to keep it from falling to the ground, and you were quite proud of yourself for that.

He let out a short laugh. "As I said, it takes some time to get used to. You will eventually though, don't worry," he said, gently sliding the shield off your arm and effortlessly lifting it back up onto its original position on the wall.

"You'll probably like this better. This," he said, fingering the page of the yellowed book carefully, "Is _Gaukur á Stöng_, otherwise known as The Lost Saga. Wonder why they never found it," he said, smirking as he turned the page gently. You never noticed how rough the tips of his fingers were until now.

"Are you serious?!" you exclaimed, looking over at the ancient Viking text with awe. You had heard many a story about the famous Lost Saga, heard countless conversations involving Denmark swearing he read it once and Norway blatantly denying its existence. "If Norway knew-"

"He won't. It's our secret. I have to keep something for myself, don't I?" he said, looking over at you with a slight smirk on his face. "It's one of my favorites. I'd hate to give it up to historians; God knows I'd never get it back. Promise you won't tell?"

"I swear," you said, eyes never leaving the paper.

"Then I can show you the other one of my favorites," he said, reaching over to the end of the table and grabbing another large book. "This is _Eiríks saga rauða_, or-"

"The Saga of Erik the Red, original _Hauksbók _version," you breathed. "That's amazing. How did you get your hands on it?"

"I helped write it. The author gave it to me when he died," he said, smiling softly as he fingered the spine gently. "Erik was my first mentor, after all." His smile dropped a bit as he lifted the corner of the page gently. It was obvious he still missed Erik, even now.

"You miss him, don't you," you said sadly, staring down at the table. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he glanced at you, surprised at your comment, before letting out a soft sigh.

"Yeah. He was the bravest man I've ever met, save for maybe his son," he said, twirling the axe in his hands again. "This was his," he said, flipping it so you could read the inscription. Sure enough, _Erik the Red_ had been inscribed on the bottom of the staff in old runes, and another inscription could be seen on the other side. This one was much cleaner, though, as if it had been done by a slightly more practiced hand, and it wasn't written in runes. Just in old Icelandic.

"What does the other side say?" You asked, causing the Icelander to flip over the axe.

"May Thor grant you strength and ensure you safety in years to come," Iceland said sadly. "The first inscription was done by one of Erik's closest friends back home, or so he said, but this was done by Lief shortly before he died. He told me that Erik asked him to inscribe it, so that I would have his message with me always." He said, running his thumb over the inscriptions. "They raised me to be a ruthless warrior, but they were always so concerned about my safety," he said, smiling a bit. "Let's just say I didn't disappoint them when I took command after they died."

"Wait, wait, wait- hold up," you said. "Norway and Denmark and Sweden always said you weren't a Viking. Did you tell them to lie to me or something?" you said, more than a bit pissed at him for keeping this from you.

"No, nothing like that," he said. "They simply don't know that I was a Viking. I continued Erik and Lief's work in the Americas, in Newfoundland, while the others restricted themselves to the East. They never even really went to Greenland, at least, not for a long time," he mused. "I met them one time, when we raided the Norwegian coastline, long after my mentors had passed. Norway didn't even recognize me," he chuckled. "Funny how I was the only one who could beat him senseless and walk away without much of a scratch. The other two did a sorry job, if I do say so myself."

"Wha…I don't get it," you say, struggling to cope with this new information. "I know you hate it when the others tease you about not being a Viking. About being the little one. Why do you let them do it? Ice, they're your FAMILY! How can you keep this a secret from them?" you practically shouted.

"Because all hell would brake lose if they knew," he said. "You've heard them talk about Eríkur the Terrible, right?" He said, looking over at her with a rather serious expression.

"Yeah, but…" you trailed off. The only time you've ever heard the other Nordics mention that name was with contempt, swearing that if they ever got the chance to see that man again they'd kill him. He was a brutal man, torturing others unnecessarily and taking things he didn't need. He was cruel, and dealt with anyone he saw without honor or mercy. Everyone said he was the most despicable human being they'd ever met. He destroyed their countries. Ransacked their villages. But most importantly, he was the only one who could beat them. Not just one, but all three of them, one after the other, were beaten senseless, to the point of near death. It was the most humiliating and painful thing the three men had ever experienced. The one detail they never failed to mention about their attacker was his strikingly white hair…and every time the subject came up, Iceland stood in the corner, silent, arms crossed, visible pain and regret in his eyes.

"Oh my God," you said. "You were-"

"Yeah," he said, cutting you off. "Yeah, I was."

"But why?" you choked, tears brimming up in your eyes. "How could you do something so terrible to them? Be so cruel? I thought…" you said, taking a step back. You froze as his hands curled into fists on the table, a sudden fear coursing through your body. You never noticed how strong he really was, how his muscles rippled underneath his shirt as he walked, how dangerous he could be when he wanted to be. In front of you stood a merciless killer who had slaughtered thousands with the very axe resting beside him on the table, recently cleaned and sharpened, posing as an innocent teenager who had never even seen the tides of battle.

"Because I was young, stupid, and sick and tired of their shit," he said, turning his head slightly to face you, obvious anger in his eyes...along with sadness and regret. "I was done getting ignored, pushed around, stomped on, looked down upon. I refused to be their property anymore. That's why I ran away from Norway in the first place. They didn't care, they never did, probably only pretend to now. I instantly regretted hurting them afterwards…" he said, voice trailing off a bit. "I looked around me and saw the only family I had torn to shreds by my very hands. Like it or not, they were all I have. All I could have. Erik was gone. Lief was gone. And nothing I could do would ever bring them back." He croaked. "I fled the land. Went back home, became an unassuming country boy once again. This time, when Norway came looking for me, demanded my land, I came out willingly. I agreed to whatever terms he wanted. I would have let him roll over me, do whatever he wanted, kill me if he wished…I couldn't do that to someone again. That's why I don't have an army, even now. I became determined to never harm anyone again. Keep the peace. It broke me…I'm still broken," he finished, staring at the wall.

You stood there frozen for a minute, staring at the man you thought you knew, who just told you his darkest secret…something that could absolutely ruin him forever. "Iceland…" you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, resting your fingers on his bicep. It was firm, yet soft…and warm. What they said was true; he may be the land of Ice, but his heart was consumed in fire.

"Do me a favor…whatever you do…don't tell anyone, ok?" he said, looking over at you with tears visible in his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat. Never could you have imagined him to be tis utterly broken, especially someone like him…

"I promise," you choked out, wrapping your coat around you as you slowly backed away. You could tell he wanted to be alone. He always did.

He didn't want to hurt anyone again.

Iceland ran a finger of the inscription for the last time, pausing on the last part. He had chosen not to tell her about that bit.

_I promise you, my boy, that love will find you someday._


	2. Chapter 2-Romano x Prussia-World Meeting

**Request from a good friend of mine...figured I might as well publish it. I rather like this one, and just in case you haven't figured it out yet, ANGST. ANGST AND SADNESS.**

"Stupid meetings…" Prussia muttered, kicking a pebble that just so happened to be in his path. What was the point? It was just stupid "important" people talking about stupid "important" things. Meetings never accomplished anything anyways; all those stuck-up countries just sat in a stuffy room and argued about things that would likely never change. He asked himself angrily for the umpteenth time why he had even bothered to come in the first place, before letting out a sigh and returning his gaze back to the ground. One day, when they weren't so "important" anymore, maybe they would see just how stupid, just how pointless this whole thing was.

To his surprise, apparently he wasn't the only one having these thoughts. The small brunette sat on a nearby bench, his curl sticking up, as defiant as ever. Just like its owner, it refused to do what it was told and never seemed to be nice to anyone. He sat down next to him, silently watching the man out of the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to smirk even just a little bit as the scowl began to creep over the Italian's face.

"Go away, Bastardo," Romano hissed, turning his head away from the albino. ,"Don't you have better things to do?"

"You mean meeting stuff? Nah, I'm too awesome for that," Gilbert said, finally allowing the grin to creep across his face.

"Oh, right, you're not a country anymore. I almost forgot." Romano snapped back. Although he didn't let it show, those words sent a pang of longing and hurt through Gilbert. Instead of flinching, he forced himself to widen his smirk, refusing to show anyone how much those words really hurt him. "And unlike you, I don't have to go to meetings if I don't want to. I'm just that awesome," he replied, receiving only a huff from the shorter man in response.

"So what brings you here anyways? Don't you have a meeting to get back to?" he said, glancing back at the meeting house. Germany was giving a speech, speaking sternly as always. Prussia couldn't remember the last time he hadn't seen his brother in a military uniform, hair immaculately slicked back and various badges adorning his lapel. He was always so strict, so uptight, never willing to let loose and enjoy himself-even for Italy. Austria was the same way, always so prissy and stuck-up, wasting his life away sitting at his stupid piano. Everyone else did the same; why couldn't anyone just relax for once?

"What's the point? People would sooner listen to Italy than me, and that idiota's a blundering fool," he snarled, following Prussia's gaze towards the window. Germany was yelling at Italy. Again.

"Well that's probably because you always yell at everybody. It kind of drives them away," Prussia stated. He was never really one for sugarcoating things. And it was true; the Italian's harsh attitude and colorful vocabulary tended to have that effect on people.

"Shut the fuck up! You don't know what the hell you're talking about, bastardo!" Romano exclaimed, his face painfully close to Prussia's ear. He didn't take any notice of it; he was the loud one in the family, after all. As if just realizing what he had done, the Italian's eyes widened, if only slightly, before he quickly turned his back to the albino, sitting as far away from him as humanly possible.

"Stupid idiota…" he mumbled. "That little bastard is always so fucking happy. He has everything; better art, better food, better music, better money; hell, even better wine. I have nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. There's nothing I can do about it, either. And even when I yell, nobody listens," he seethed. Prussia felt his face fall as he looked over at the brunette; he was slouched over with arms crossed, refusing to look at him, curl trembling slightly. Prussia felt the familiar pang of loneliness strike his chest, felt the bitter despair spread throughout his body. He knew too well the feeling of being second-best, the one no one ever wanted. He was always looked down on by West and Austria, always being told to stop being so loud, reckless, and stupid. Hell, even Hungary practically hated him-he always knew she'd choose Austria in the end. He was always the unwanted one, the broken one, the one that everyone saw as the reckless, stupid fool. Maybe they pitied him, once, but now they didn't even spare him a second thought. Who the hell even knew who Prussia was anyway? No one knew he existed. No one cared. Why he was still even alive, sentenced to this dreary loneliness, he didn't know. He didn't understand. He only knew that Romano shouldn't have to feel so alone; he still had a country, still had friends…he had a brother that loved him, and he had Spain. Prussia couldn't even begin to dream of such luxuries anymore.

"Then tell me why Italy looks up to you," Prussia started, turning his gaze back to the field in front of him. Romano's gaze flicked over to his face in surprise for a moment, before turning even farther away from Gilbert than he had been previously, leaning over the edge of the railing. "He always listens to whatever you say, always follows you without hesitation. He always tries to make you happy…it's obvious that he loves you. He's not the only one…believe it or not, Spain loves you too. More than you know." He paused, gathering his thoughts before responding. "That's more than I could ever say for myself, at any rate. And besides, you're still a country. Like it or not, you do actually have the power to control international affairs. Enjoy your awesomeness while you still can." Gilbert finished, resting his hand on the Italian's shoulder. After a moment, he stood up from the bench and resumed his walk along the well-trodden path, hand in his pockets, hair ruffled slightly in the wind. When he finally looked back, Romano was gone from the bench. He saw the door to the meeting room open, then close, as the brunette with the unmistakable curl finally returned to the meeting. He smiled to himself as he walked deeper into the small forest, the meeting room quickly falling out of sight behind him.

-_3/11/14, Spencer Sigtryggsson_


	3. Chapter 3-AmeBel vs USUK - Who am I

**So this is a songfic. Anti AmeBel and pro USUK. This one is mainly just sad, there's not as much drama or angst in it. Enjoy!**

.

England walked down the road, hand in his pockets. It was the Fourth of July. The day America left in. Surprisingly, he was actually in America that day, walking down the streets of a small little town near the coast of Massachusetts. He didn't know the name, and quite frankly didn't care. America had decided to hold the party in a more remote location this year, and the Englishman decided to finally show up. He had been avoiding this conversation for over 200 years, and he had made up his mind that it was high time to apologize.

_Forgive me_

_I may have said things_

_That aren't exactly_

_The way that I feel_

Apologize not for the war so much as everything that came before and after that. For being controlling. For not listening. For being a complete ass to him after his independence.  
>For not speaking up and coming to his party sooner.<p>

_I told you I'd be strong_

_I said that I moved on_

_But it doesn't take long_

_To realize_

As he rang the doorbell, he couldn't help but feel guilty about the fact that the party started hours ago. Maybe he should have shown up sooner. Before America possibly got drunk, or did something stupid, or-  
>"England?"<p>

_That I'm not over you_

He was interrupted by America's voice, and couldn't help but wonder how he could hear him over the music. Looking up, he met America's surprised gaze, peering down at him with utter shock.

"What's up bro?"  
>"Well, er…" he started, turning his gaze to the floor. "This is long overdue, but I came to say sorry for everything. For being an ass to you, both then and now." He looked up again and resumed eye contact with the American, staring into his shocked blue eyes. Those damn captivating blue eyes.<br>"And for not coming to your parties sooner."

"Well that's ok, dude!" America said, albeit a bit awkwardly, flashing England a smile that made his heart thump wildly against his chest. "The party just started, you wanna come in for a bit?"

"Sure, why not?" the Englishman said, stepping through the door. He turned around and watched America close the door behind him, flashing him another one of his stupidly oversized grins. "You want anything to drink?" America asked him.  
>"Er, that's alright, I can get one-"<br>"Alfred, who is this? Did you leave me to spend time with him?" a feminine voice spoke up, a slender white hand gripping Alfred's wrist. England vaguely recognized her from the world meetings; wasn't she the creepy girl who always followed Russia around?

"Oh, uh, sorry Belarus! I just went to answer the door, no big deal!" he shouted, once again a bit awkwardly.

"Don't leave like that again," she said, eyebrows narrowed. "We weren't finished."

And with that she promptly dragged Alfred away, the latter mouthing a sorry to England with a smile as Belarus shut the door behind him.

_But if there is somebody that makes you feel happy_

_Tends to your heart in the ways I've been lacking_

_Then who am I who am I_

_To stand in your way_

England stared at the door for a moment, feeling something knot up in his chest. He was too late. America had found someone else to be with. Someone that wasn't him. Despite this, he found himself smiling slightly as he made his way towards the bar.

He needed a drink.

_I won't stand in your way_

"Give me a beer," he said, and the man nodded and slid him a bottle. He couldn't help but feel bad for him; he was in for a rough night.

He sat there for a while, making small talk with the few countries that decided to sit near him. Around his fourth beer, he felt someone tap on his shoulder.

"Hey dude," America said, sliding into the stool next to him. England couldn't help but notice how his shirt was rumpled, his hair messed up, and his tie loose.  
>"Your glasses are crooked" he commented dryly, turning his gaze back to his beer to hide the sinking feelings at the pit of his stomach.<br>"Oh, uh, thanks," America said, flushing a bit as he fixed them.

"Hey Iggy, about that…" he began, trailing off.

"Don't call me that." He said, drowning the last of his beer.

"Sorry," America said, without a hint of regret in his voice.

"I know this is kind of awkward, but…" America trailed of again. England raised an eyebrow in surprise; America wasn't exactly one to stumble over his words. Something must really be bothering him.

"Do you still like me?"

_I know it sounds crazy_

_But I need you to trust me_

_If it's how it must be_

_Then I'll fade away_

He thought about it for a moment, staring at his reflection in the empty bottle. "Yeah," he said. "I do still like you."

"Oh…" America said, looking away from England, not knowing what to say.

_When it finally feels true_

_Then do what you have to_

_Cause I'd never blame you_

_For not choosing me_

_But I'm not over you_

"Don't worry about it," England said, looking over at the American. "If you want to date her, it's fine. I had my chance about 200 years ago, and I was an idiot not to take it," He said, smiling briefly. "Just do what makes you happy." And with that, he stood up and left the house, unaware of America's regretful gaze watching him leave.

Unaware of Belarus dragging him back into the guest bedroom.

_The way that I feel is no longer your burden_

_If there is someone that can make you feel perfect_

_Then who am I who am I_

_To stand in your way_

_I won't stand in your way_

"England!" A voice called out to him as he was leaving the World Conference room, about a year after America's Fourth of July party.

"Hello Belarus," he said, turning around. "Did you need something?"

"Alfred and I are celebrating our anniversary tomorrow," she stated curtly. "Do you know what I should get him?"

_Down the road someone will ask me_

_If I know you_

_I'll pause for a moment_

_I'll smile and say that I used to_

"I used to know, but not anymore. Sorry," he said, smiling a bit sheepishly. She frowned, turned around and left, walking up to Alfred and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

_If there is somebody that makes you feel happy_

_Tends to your heart in the ways I've been lacking_

_Then who am I who am I to stand in your _

_Way that feel is no longer your burden_

_If there is someone that can make you feel perfect_

_Then who am I who am I_

_To stand in your way_

_I won't stand in your way_

England found himself smiling at the couple as they turned the corner, vanishing from sight.

_I won't stand in your way_


	4. Chapter 4-Are you Sure?

**Trigger warning for death and feels and...all that kind of stuff.**

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"But-"

"No buts. We don't have much time."

"Someone's going to find out."

"Not if we act quickly."

"Wait-"

"Shut up and just help me."

*THUNK*

*Shiffffffff*

*THUNK*

*Shifffffffff*

*THUNK*

"Would you like to help or are you just going to stand there like an idiot all night?"

"I…"

*Shiffffffffff*

*THUNK*

*Shifffffffff*

*THUMP THUNK*

*Shiffffffffffffffffffffff*

*THUNK THUMP*

*Shiffffffffffffffffffffffff*

*THUNK*

*THUMP*

*Shiffffffffffffffffffffff*

*Tap tap tap*

"Look, it's done. No one will ever know."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Oh be quiet already. It's over. Forget about it. Don't let it bother you, and you'll be fine."

"You're just not going to answer me then?"

…*sigh*.

"I'm leaving. Trust me, you'll forget all about it come tomorrow. We're going out for drinks, you should come."

*Thud thud thud thud thud thud…thud…thud…thud…thud….thud….thud…thud…..thud*

"…"

"I'm sorry"

"…."

"I…."

"wha…"

"HELP!"

*SMACK*

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

*POUND*

"PLEASE! SOMEBODY, ANYBODY!"

*THUMP* *SHUFFLE* *SMACK* *POUND* CRACK*

"Please….I don't want to die…*sob*"

"Somebody….anybody….please….."

*Sob*

"I'm so sorry…."

"Please…"

"I'm so, so sorry…"

"Why? I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" *THUD*

"I love you…"

*wheeze* *choke*

"I'm so, so, sorry"

"Please help me…"

"I…"

"Please…someone…anyone…"

"THUD THUD Thud Thud thud thud thud…"

"WHO'S THERE?" *SMACK* "HEY! HELP ME!" *POUND*

*Sob*

*Sob*

*Sob*

*Choke* *wheeze* "I…"

*Sob*

"Why would you *cough* do this to me?"

*Sob*

"I'm going to die here…and the one person that could save my life…"

*Sob*

"He ran away from me…"

It wasn't until he got home that he realized there was no light underground. She would never be able to read the note he left her.

_I'm so sorry, Seychelles…Angleterre forced me to._

_-Francis_

.

.

.

***Ahem* uh...yeah.**

**When you should be doing physics homework...**

**This is what happens.**

**Apparently I've also decided to try out a bunch of new writing styles recently.**

**I tried with the sound stuff.**

**Next shot coming soon~**


	5. Chapter 5-USUK - Ships

He had been gone for forever. So long that he almost didn't remember what he looked like. He'd been on his own for years now, and he had long since grown lonely. There was nothing to do here anymore. He had grown particularly fond of the window, watching the sea and waiting for the ships to come back to the shore. Most people hated the ships, but he was different. He waited for them during every waking moment, praying for their return. Most people had stopped talking about the ships; it had been far too long since they'd graced his shores.

. . .

He had been away for months now. He was almost scared that's he'd start to forget what he looked like-but the fear was irrational. He knew that the kid must have grown lonely since he left, and the guilt got worse with each passing week. There was so much to do he didn't have time to get away. He had grown to hate the window of his cabin; he was sick and tired of looking at the ocean every day. Most of the crew hated being on the ship, and he was no different. He waited for the opportunity to land each and every day, only to be disappointed when he wound up on the wrong beaches. The crew kept asking when they'd go back to the New World, and it killed him to say no time soon.

He was sick and tired of waiting. He was going home.

. . .

The ships finally came today. The little boy awoke with a huge grin on his face, dashing to the shore to meet them. He tripped a few times, but it didn't matter. The smile on his face grew impossibly wide as the blonde man turned to face him, green eyes lighting up as his face grew into a smile that matched the boy's.

"Iggy!" The boy called out with delight, jumping into the man's arms. The usually serious pirate captain laughed in glee, embracing the boy tightly.

"I'm finally home, America," he said softly, smile never fading from his face.

. . .

"Hey Iggy!" A man called out, waving his arm in the air with a ridiculous smile on his face.

"Don't call me that, wanker!" He shouted back, cold green eyes mirroring the frown on his face.

_You're not a kid anymore…_

_You're not my kid anymore, America._

**Damn, I've been writing a lot about England lately. Huh.**

**So Jade Author asked for a happy story about America...**

**I tried.**

**I couldn't resist that last paragraph though.**

**Also, SHOUTOUT TO ALL MY ICELANDIC READERS-**

**And everyone else too, because you're all awesome.**

**Keep Calm and Love Hetalia~**


	6. 10 Songs 3 Minutes-1

**10 Songs 3 Minutes Challenge**

**Rules:**

**1-Pick a character, pairing, or fandom**

**2-Put your playlist on shuffle**

**3-Write short one-shots based on the first ten songs that play for the chosen character, pairing, or fandom.**

**4-No skipping songs**

**5-You only have until the song is over to write. As soon as it ends, move onto the next song. No pausing or thinking the song/story beforehand (hence the shuffle rule)**

**6-Post it**

...

**Where the Lonely Ones Roam**

Iceland walked down the road, hands in his pockets, wind tussling his hair. He flicked his bangs out of his as he stared out over the water, looking out as a flock of birds flew overhead. He smiled. The aurora borealis would come out soon.

America walked down the road, zipping up his bomber jacket, wind pinning his hair back from his forehead. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stared at the city below him. He smiled. The night life would be starting soon.

Prussia walked down the road, fixing his scarf, wind ruffling his hair. He finally reached the top of the hill, and stared out into the distance. He smiled. The sun would be setting soon.

If only they could convince someone to come with them…

…

**Bring Me to Life**

They had meetings every month. They'd fly around the world, go to places others could only dream of, and sit in offices all day busying themselves with paperwork. In a few short days, they'd fly straight back home, never managing to find the time to go sightseeing even for just a little bit. When they returned, all that awaited them was paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. They'd have more meetings, manage funds, fill out forms, check in with local and national officials, and oversee all major government projects. There was hardly a moment for them to catch a break, and certainly not enough time to spare the two (or really, three) days need to fly to other countries to visit each other. Hell, most of them hadn't ben everywhere in their own country, much less everyone else's'.

Their lives were surrounded by work. They were consumed by it. Many of them have lived thousands of years, seen a million lives come and go, yet never get to enjoy life themselves. They aren't allowed to. They have to suffer, to lock themselves up, give up any sense of freedom or happiness in order to keep their people safe.

They deserve a break, even if only for just a little while, more than anyone else on the entire planet.

They'll likely never get it.

…

**Nillili Mambo**

The music blasted through the speakers, the bass causing the entire room to vibrate in tune with the beat. Everyone was on the dance floor, dancing like the bunch of drunken fucks they were. He wouldn't have doubted that the middle of the dance circle was one giant grind fest.

"I don't understand why we come here," Norway said, taking a sip of his drink. "Neither of us dance. Finland and Denmark get in the middle of the shit fest and Sweden ends up carrying their asses home."

A new song came on, and both had a clear view of Denmark stumbling to the right and to the left with Finland faithfully by his side. He was pretty sure the song was called the Cupid Shuffle.

"No idea," Iceland said, taking a sip of his drink as well. "Unless you ignore the fact that we charge Denmark for all of our drinks-and he never suspects a thing."

…

**Never Forget (Iceland Eurovision)**

"I…Look, I can't sign the treaty."

"Of course you can. This is everything you've worked for. Everything that WE'VE worked for."

"But-"

"No buts. We're going to sign that damn paper if it's the last thing I ever do."

"It WILL be the last thing you ever do, dumbass!"

The albino cracked a smile, giving out a short laugh. "And if I'm willing to accept that, who are you to stop me?"

The taller blonde just stared back at him with a look of utter shock on his face. "But…"

"Look West," he said, smile dropping as sadness crosses over his features." Just do me a favor,"

"Anything."

"Don't forget me."

"…I promise."

…

**You're Going Down**

Everything they had worked for had been leading up to this.

Everything he did.

Everything he stood for.

They both knew that England was going to lose. Yet England stumbled forward in a type of desperate illusion, losing countless men due to his blind stupor. He knew he was beaten, but he would never step down.

Stubborn.

The way England had always been.

And England taught America everything he knew.

But he wasn't really satisfied that day.

Yes, they had won.

The war would soon be over.

America had independence at last.

But he couldn't help but feel the sharp ache of guilt at the memory of his older brother sobbing in the middle of the battlefield.

Scratch that.

They weren't brothers anymore.

…

**This Time It's Different**

Canada was done.

He was sick and tired of all of their bullshit.

He had learned to deal with his solitude over the years, but never once had he completely broken down like this. He had no idea how long he'd been crying for, or why there were glass shards spread all across the carpet and deeply embedded in his hands. He didn't care.

He had tried everything he could to get them to hear them. He couldn't do it anymore. He needed to make sure they noticed him, paid attention to him, or he didn't know what would happen.

Would they notice if he…died? If he disappeared?

Attempted to take his own life?

He had already called 911.

Now it was just time to do the deed. They'd save him in time.

He wondered who would come to visit him on his deathbed.

That is, if anyone bothered to come at all.

…

**Love Again**

He was beaten. Conquered, defeated. Everything they had fought for, destroyed.

He didn't mind so much that Hitler had been stopped, that the pointless executions had finally come to an end. He didn't mind so much that he had to pay the price of war, and that he would suffer the consequences of his actions.

What he did mind was that his friends were broken. Japan sat beside him, starving and shivering from cold, begging wordlessly for help. He had always had an answer for him in the past. But now…now he didn't know what to do.

He felt his heart stop as he looked up, whole body freeze in a panic as he looked at the man he had not seen in years. Italy. The red-haired man looked at them sadly for a moment before turning and walking away, head down, face crestfallen, doing his best to ignore his former comrade's misery.

It was then that Germany's heart really, truly broke.

…

**Funhouse**

Denmark was alone now-well, he had Icey, but that didn't really count. It was another one of those on-and-off again wars with Norway, and he woke up to find the Norwegian missing once again.

He didn't know how to get them back. Talking wasn't working. They always complained about what he said; about him being loud, obnoxious, rude. He couldn't trust words to win back his friends.

He had to use violence.

He had found Norway's house. It was a nice place by the sea, a ways away from the nearest city.

He stared at the flame on the end of the stick for a moment before throwing it into the household, turning his back as the place went up in smoke.

He pressed his hands over his ears to block out the cries of the Norwegian as he found his house ablaze, distancing himself as much as he could from the scene. So intent was he on ignoring everything, in fact, that he almost didn't feel the sharp tug on his coat.

Iceland.

"How could you do that to him?"

…

**Dead Man Walking**

Austria sat at his piano, playing the same melody over and over again. He hadn't moved for days on end, and the servants were beginning to get worried. He never shut the door to the piano room, much less locked it.

Nonetheless, they didn't bother him. As long as they could hear the muffled sounds of the piano, they knew he was alive and well.

The keys were wet from the tears that had remained unshed for over a hundred long years. He loved her, but she was never really happy. He did everything he could to help her, but in the end, she had to leave. Her country came first, not him. He had to resign himself to that.

He became stiffy and stuck-up, forcing himself to be proud of what his lonely country had become in order to get over his loss. But every time he saw her, talked to her, he'd lie through the skin of his teeth to keep her from knowing the truth.

He made it a point to play that song every day. It was the only memory worth saving at this point.

…

**Deepest Cut**

He always hated the term "Cold War". For one thing, "Cold" was hardly the appropriate word to describe an arms race, and for another, it was in no way a "war" in the sense the name led people to believe.

All the fighting took place behind the scenes, where not even the other countries could see. Past history between the two sent old feuds and petty arguments boiling back up to the surface. But amongst the childish fights were the deeper, much more dangerous battles that instilled fear into their citizens and the world for years to come.

They don't talk about that time anymore.

It's something they both try very hard to forget.

.

.

.

**I definitely really liked this challenge, and I think I'm going to do it around every five chapters or so. It makes you write about events and characters you don't normally write for, and it teaches you how to write under a time crunch. If you haven't done it yet, I highly recommend it.**

**SO. IMPORTANT: WRITE A REVIEW AND TELL ME A PAIRING OR CHARACTER OR GROUP OF CHARACTERS AND I'LL WRITE ABOUT THEM FOR THE NEXT SONG CHALLENGE.**

**.**

**So...I wrote this when I was bored a few days ago, realized I never posted it, and then realize that I don't even remember writing half of these depressing short stories.**

**The challenge is awesome though. It makes you write about events and characters you don't usually write for.**

**Also I apologize if some of them are bad, I only had around three minutes for each one though...**

**And for making them all really depressing (sorry (not sorry)).**

**HoneyBeeGirl94-Your story is coming soon. I'm working on it now, it'll be the next one up~**

**WE BROKE 200 READS! WHOOP WHOOP-**

**You guys are awesome.**

**Keep calm and love Hetalia~**


	7. Chpt 6-Yao x Erika-Don't Hike at Night

**Request from HoneyBeeGirl94. It's a Liechtenstein x China Kindnapping!Human!AU. I hope I did your request justice...this just sort of...uh...happened.**

**Trigger warnings for violence and death and all the stuff you would expect to be associated with a kidnapping AU.**

They were happy. Life was good; they had a nice house off towards the countryside, connecting to the nearby forest –by far the best place to go on long walks. They'd hike for hours together, laughing as they went, and wait on the top of the highest hill until the stars came out. They'd count shooting stars together, smiling softly as they fell asleep there, limbs so entangled you couldn't tell one from the other.

When he looked up now, the only thing he saw were the brown watermarks against the dirty steel ceiling. He heard the ringing of an unfamiliar language coursing through the air, blood pounding in his ears as they struck him with the rusty metal pipe they'd pulled off the wall when he first got here. He turned his head, grimace on his face, feeling the cool floor ease his bruising cheek. He squints his eyes, open slightly against the now harsh light, met by clear streaks running down her face. He smiled slightly, attempting to reassure her, glad that it was his streaks that were red and not white like hers.

They eventually moved onto her as well though. It broke his heart, watching them hurt her like that. He couldn't do anything except for sit there, helpless. He had never learned German, and was starting to deeply regret it. The hard steel from the ceiling had dripped down and wrapped itself around his wrists, clanking whenever he tried to move to far away from his place next to the wall. His wrists were long since bloodied and scarred from trying to rip them out of his sockets, and his mind was numb and tired. But when he saw her tears turn to blood as well, it was all he could do not to break down sobbing.

He had yelled, screamed, cried, cursed; nothing seemed to divert their attention away from her. He was only permitted to watch now, utterly ignored by everyone else, as the one he loved got beaten to a pulp. It broke him, being left in the dark, witnessing this senseless violence every day, while he was powerless to stop it. They weren't permitted to speak to each other, only to stare, communicate via eye signals. He couldn't tell her how sorry he was, how much this hurt him – after a while, she curled up in a ball and brought her head to her knees, sobbing, refusing to even look at him.

He heard them talking in the other room. To another man and woman who's voices sounded vaguely familiar, who hadn't been here before. They were begging, pleading, sobbing, and eventually, their voices simply…stopped. As if they were merely on a phone call. He heard footsteps approaching their prison as the door swung open, frown present on his face as he lifted his head slightly from the cold, hard floor. They had brought a knife today. No, scratch that; it was a large machete. Unlike the other things scattered about this filthy place, the machete was clean, polished to a perfect shine.

He felt the dread creep up his spine as they approached him instead of her, unlocking his handcuffs and dragging him forcefully to the center of the room. He had barely even realized that Erika was full-o sobbing now, body shaking as she huddled into an even tighter ball. They gripped him roughly by the scalp and turned his head to face hers, his chin tilted skywards, barking something at her in German. She looked up at him, eyes red and puffy, face and body scarred, exhibiting nothing less than the deepest sadness, fear, and utmost terror. He sensed, rather than heard, the machete being raised behind him.

She knew.

His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen, the blade making contact with his neck not a moment later. He felt a sharp stab of pain for an instant, then everything went black.

Her parents finally came. Yao's head lay on the ground, rotten and decaying as the kidnappers came stomping into the door, suitcase full of money in their hand.

Her parents were pushed in after them in handcuffs, both tripping and falling to the floor. Her eyes widened as she realized their foolish mistake. Just because they had the money wouldn't mean they would let them go. In reality, they were going to die anyway – the kidnappers couldn't let word of what had happened get out. The money was the only thing keeping her alive. Now that it was here, all three of them were going to die.

Her mom went first. The man whipped around and plunged the long blade deep into her stomach, creating an ever-expanding stain of red against her white shirt. Her father didn't have much of a chance to yell before they tilted his head back, severing it in much the same way they did to Yao's. The blade was long since dirty at this point as they ran it down her cheek, her flesh crying scarlet as the blood frothed up to the surface.

The police came a moment too late.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**As I said, this just sort of...happened.**

**I really am incapable of writing a happy story.**

**Oops.**

**I TRIED.**

**To put in a request for a story, write a review or PM me, either is fine blah blah blah blabbity-blah.**

**Bloop.**

**Next chapter coming up soon**

**Keep calm and love Hetalia~**


	8. Chpt 7-Iceland x Liechtenstein-Different

**This is something I wrote a while ago... Enjoy!**

**.**

Liechtenstein watched the boy from across the table at the world meeting. He sat there with the other Nordics, a part of a big happy family, something none of them had. Yet he ignored them, staring boredly at the speaker, obviously wishing he could be somewhere else. Alone. He was so much like big brother. Except that unlike her, he refused to give his brother that title. She looked on as he once again refused to call him by that "childish" name with a huff, resting his chin in his hand, face turned away from the others. She noticed the small sigh of sadness that escaped his lips. He was searching for something different, but why wasn't he happy with what he had?

Iceland watched the fly scuttle across the table, pausing before taking off and soaring out of the empty window. At least it was free. He would always be Little Baby Iceland to the Nordics. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't just that he didn't want to, but calling Norway 'Big Brother' really WAS stupid at this age. He was 17, but everyone still viewed him as if he was ten, no older than Sealand. And what's more, he was trapped; he was part of the Nordics. Stuck with them. They were separate from the rest of Europe, distant. They had no real friends outside their circle, and that was the way it was going to stay. He liked being alone, at home. Where he was seen for what he truly was, where he could get lost in the ancient land and ancient language. Where he wasn't limited by assumptions and first impressions. Why couldn't they just let him be alone, back at home? At least the earth didn't judge him.

Liechtenstein glanced over at her older brother, who was watching the speaker as if nothing else mattered. She loved him, she really did. And she knew he loved her too. But he never showed it. He never really paid attention to her. They never spent much quality time together, and if they did, it was always at her request. He never stepped forward and took charge, like an older brother should. Like a man should. He was always wrapped up in his banks, in his permanent declaration of neutrality. He was so busy nowadays, he would leave before the sun came up and come home after she fell asleep. Sometimes, he'd leave for weeks, even months at a time on business trips. He said he loved her out loud once. She knew he did in his heart, but she never was on the receiving end of those tender actions, those kind words. She couldn't help but wish for something more. Someone to care for her, to truly make her feel loved.

Iceland glanced over the room, his eyes coming to rest on a young girl staring fondly up at her older brother. It was obvious they shared a close bond. He knew they'd do anything for each other, that they saw each other for who they truly were. Norway had stopped pestering him at this point, distracted by the Dane's stupid antics. And then he couldn't help but question; did Norway really love him? The answer was obvious, yes; but at the same time, he could never truly come to that conclusion. Lovers cared for each other. They didn't bring each other down, they lifted you up. Norway never took the time to truly understand him. To learn about him, and who he was as a person, not just a nation. He never spoke kindly, never showed emotion; he couldn't fathom why Denmark stuck around. They pushed him around as if he was a little child. He couldn't help but dream of finding someone who would see him as an adult, treat him like a true man. Someone to really and truly love him for him, and no one else.

Perhaps it was fate that they met in Norway not a month later. Iceland was visiting. Switzerland was there on a business meeting, and he brought Liechtenstein with him for once. The two 'children', as they were deemed, were banished from the room, not allowed to partake in such serious affairs. He showed her the fjords, and they sat by the stream of water and talked for hours on end. She told him she wanted to see his country. He readily complied.

He was always so welcoming, so kind, so warm-hearted. He wasn't that cold, distant teen everyone thought he was. He was so dynamic, so passionate about what he loved, the things that made him happy. Ísland. The land of ice by name, beauty by nature. He always greeted her with a smile, was always thoughtful of her. He showed her so many things, and even taught her a bit of Icelandic, which she picked up quickly. She enjoyed spending time with him. He really cared. He knew as much about her as she knew about him, always put her needs first, always made sure she was happy. Just being with him made her happy.

She never saw him as a child. They were around the same age, after all. She was never limited by what others were, by the biased words and thoughts and ideas. And he could finally pour himself out to someone. He showed her his home, his language, his culture; his deepest, darkest secrets and happiest memories. She understood him. And by God, he tried so hard to make her happy. To show her how much she meant to him. And every time he saw that smile on her face, he knew that he was happy, too.

She visited him whenever she could, and he her. Well, she mostly came to him; they both enjoyed being in Iceland more than anywhere else. Despite the fact that it was small, they never ran out of things to do, places to explore. There were so many different things to do, and they knew they would probably never do it all. And that's what made it so amazing. But Iceland wasn't just a never-ending amusement park, but also a place of solace. Of closure. A place where they could be alone, where no one could disturb them. No one came to their island, deserted in the middle of the ocean. No one ever paid any attention to it anyways.

And that's the way they liked it. That way, there was no one to interrupt the conversation between them and the open sky.

.

.

.

**OMG GUYS I WROTE A HAPPY STORY THE WORLD IS ENDING**

**No but seriously. This is like a huge accomplishment.**

**Anyways...**

**Thanks for over 300 views! You guys are awesome!**

**Hope you all enjoy it, I might start working on a request for a Scotland x France next or upload some random story before them. I'm not sure what I'll do yet.**

**Hope you all enjoy!**

**Keep calm and love Hetalia~**


	9. Chpt 8-Iceland x Norway - Snapped

I'm not bipolar. I'm not a sociopath. I'm not dangerous-at least, I try not to be. I warned you not to make me mad. Did everything I could to shut you out, for all these years. I didn't want to kill anyone again. But of course it had to be you. You had to go and set me off. Don't lie; you knew full well what you were doing. You just didn't realize you had gone too far. Didn't realize that one day I would snap.

I broke your neck. That's all I remember. I must have slammed you against the wall, choking you before I squeezed so hard that I managed to snap your neck in two. I wouldn't doubt that I could do it, when I'm like that. I know my vision turns red and my actions and word to a blur, that violence and primal instinct take over my brain. Did you see a monster as you took your last breath?

Your eyes are glazed over. Nothing's really new there-they're staring up at the ceiling, blank and expressionless. Like they always were. But if I think hard enough, I can just glimpse your face at the moment of your death, I can see the gaze change. You were scared. My hands have scratches on them from where you clawed to get free. I can hear your choked breath, squeezing out of your lungs, voice cracking and changing in ways I never thought it could. Would nothing except for death have forced these emotions out? Or were you content with your impassive stares, with watching life pass you by?

I'm sorry, Norway…tell Denmark goodbye for me.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**So this was a short little thing I wrote based on a headcannon of mine...in case you haven't figured that out (or you haven't read the first chapter of this story)...I definitely don't see Iceland as an innocent little kid.**

**Maybe I'll type my headcannon up in full for you guys so you can understand it. Idk. But let's just say the way Iceland is portrayed in the show isn't exactly historically accurate...(he was probably the most badass Viking ever).**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy! Next chapter will be up soon-**

**Keep calm and love Hetalia~**


End file.
